


This Is Your End

by MissMarionette



Category: Naruto
Genre: (ugly sobbing), Dark, Domestic, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff, Forced Orgasm, Forced Pregnancy, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kidnapping, Poisoning, Rape/Non-con Elements, Various AUs, my 5 star OTP, my attempts at capturing a possibly realistic or believable dynamic between the two, said attempts mostly fail in my eyes and it makes me sad, seriously I love this pairing to fucking death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-29 14:34:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8493634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMarionette/pseuds/MissMarionette
Summary: A sporadically-updated collection of Sasori x Sakura bits and ends that I am somehow compelled to write and gather up. Ratings usually will hover around T-M, with focuses on Angst and some Romance, but most definitely dark stuff.





	1. Crawl

"Come now Sakura, is this the best you can do?" the silhouette of a man asked her, "You have ten minutes until the toxins completely overwhelm your nervous system, and it would be such a disappointment if we couldn't continue this game."

Sakura propped herself on a numbing elbow and glared in his general direction. He was sitting in a chair fifteen feet away and in the dim light she could see his legs were crossed, his hands were folded in his lap, his fucking smirk, those dead, glassy brown eyes.

The wooden floor was cold. It felt good against her sweating thighs and shins.

She felt like she was going to throw up. She wanted to take a minute to collect herself but time wasn't on her side. He didn't allow her to think, anyway:

"Clock is ticking, puppet. As much as I would adore adding you to my private collection, I'm willing to admit that I enjoy these distractions I've come up with, wouldn't you?"

Sakura gritted her teeth. _Shut up._

She wanted to give up. This was the, what, the sixth, seventh (eighth?) time he had deliberately poisoned her and expected her to crawl like a bug across a room to beg him for the antidote?

She didn't want to do this anymore. Forget honor, forget dignity, forget one's duty as a shinobi. This was pure torture and anyone who would dare argue with her on that fact could swallow their own teeth after she knocked them from their roots.

"I am waiting, Sakura and you know how much I hate doing so."

Her arm gave out when she tried to shift forward closer to him and she let out a cry of anguish when she found she was incapable of sliding it out from under her stomach. Turning her head to the side to feel the cool wood against her cheek, she bit her lip in both anger and despair.

_No. Fuck you. I'm done. I'll just die. Why did I fight you for so long? At least if and when they find my body it won't be nearly as fucked up than if I were to keep doing this shit over and over and over…_

The kunoichi couldn't stop the bile from escaping her lips. Luckily it was only a little bit and the flavor coating her tongue was that of foul water.

Her ears were still working and they picked up the sound of a set of chastising tongue clicks. She wanted to break his jaw.

Soft footsteps. A voice floating far above her head. "Oh well."

He lifted her into his arms as if she were nothing. In that moment, numb and as if floating, she was nothing. Hopefully she was so much nothing that he would deem her useless and kill her. _Please._

The monster disguised as a beautiful teenaged boy settled himself down in his armchair with her in his arms. Her chin was tucked in and she could see her bruised and scraped legs draped over the opposite arm rest, his hand absentmindedly stroking up the length from her knee to the hem of her torn skirt. His other arm gripped her shoulder tightly, holding him close to her.

Swallowing was becoming more difficult. She couldn't cough. Her chest convulsed as she struggled to expel air. She was suffocating.

"Time's almost up."

_I know. I'm glad. Don't you dare interfere. Let me die._

"Luckily for you, I have the antidote right here, so I'll be a good sport and let you pass this one time."

_No. No no no no no no._

The sound of a cork being unstopped from a thick jar or vial and Sakura's chin was forcibly raised to meet the frigid lip of the foul-tasting potion.

She couldn't struggle. She couldn't slap it out of his hand and scream at him that she wanted to please, please die. Please.

Her jaw was slack and it was no trouble for him to pour the contents down her throat. As soon as the first drops landed on her tongue she knew she had lost. Won in that she would remain alive. Lost for the very same reason.

It had an acidic tinge to it and irritated Sakura's throat even more.

"I would be lying if I were to say I wasn't disappointed by today's efforts, Sakura." Sakura still retained the ability to blink so she shut her eyes and concentrated on the smell of his cloak. It smelt of cedar and clean laundry.

Anything to distract her from the reality of the situation.

Now she could feel his hand gently caressing her upper arm. If she had enough control to shiver, she would have, freely. Let him know how much he disgusted her, how much she _hated_ him.

She cracked her eye open when she heard a metallic _click_ and realized that he had turned off the light that she was too unhinged to determine the source of.

In the dark his voice was soft and silky and Sakura was lulled by it into a defeated—yet welcome- sleep. His mouth hovered over her ear and his fingers tickled her jaw when they brushed away her hair to better attack her brain with his honeyed words.

"Sweet dreams, puppet. Tomorrow is a new day, after all."


	2. Passive

His face is passive. Always. Almost always, rather.

It infuriates Sakura sometimes, and it infuriates her more that she's this hung up about it.

But it's so uncanny, so unsettling how smooth his face is, how time has been unsuccessful in marking his existence with some superficial tells; laugh lines to serve as bookends around his mouth, for instance.

His eyes are the only part of him that has grown with him, she thinks. They analyze quickly and do not waver, nor are they easily distracted. He closes them sometimes when he thinks, and when he opens them again they're much swifter in assessing the task at hand.

When he looms over her on their bed, before he leans in for a kiss, she is always struck by how utterly serious he is. He is not one to take matters such as 'love' lightly, and for her it took a few months of hemming and hawing before she had the courage to lay her feelings bare to him.

She had been afraid he would have rejected her feelings because he was such a reserved and put-together individual, and she...she was a bit of a mess. Didn't really have all together, not yet, though she really should have by now. A relationship with her would have just jumbled up his methodical life, wouldn't it?

Lucky for her (maybe for both of them?), he was willing, and patient, more than anyone had ever been with her...though with his sacrifices came hers: She couldn't act flippant and teeter-totter anymore when it came to making her feelings known like she used to in order to get her parents to relent and give her what she wanted. He equated it to lying, and in a way he was right. No bullshit, never with him.

He holds her tightly, sometimes tight enough to pop her back in a few places, when they make love. Sometimes he doesn't even move. He just holds her there with him inside of her and he whispers things in her ear.

Lovely things. Sometimes deeply personal things. Inner demons. Worries.

And she accepts all of him. Not as an angel of mercy and forgiveness, but as a dutiful partner who enjoys the fact that she is the person he turns to, and not even reluctantly. With trust and fervor in the way his hands squeeze her like a stuffed animal and his words enchant her.

This strong and silent, yet youthful and passionate man that displays all of this life, all of this energy...

She wishes that--should they be together for days long after ones like these--she'll be able to look into his face and see the evidence of the time they've shared. Wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, perhaps. Or maybe the beginnings of creases around his mouth.


	3. Affliction

Sakura slips in and out of sleep as easily as blinking, a phenomenon that she is grateful for as the pain of her headache is enough to bring tears to her eyes.

At first it was embarrassing to realize that something as simple and unseen as a migraine would crumple her carefully schooled resolve in front of him, on top of the vomiting, on top of the swelling in the lymph nodes of her groin, armpits, and even thyroid, on top of the sensation of bugs boring through the tips of her fingers and feasting on the muscles in her arms as they made their way to her shoulders, on top of the extreme heart burn that could be comparable to lava splashing and melting away her lungs and ribcage...

She wanted to tell this man (was he even a man? By all accounts, not anymore...) that this was a pain like none other, and felt half a mind to beg him not to discount her competence as a kunoichi because of her tearful mumbling to _make the pain the stop_ , that she wanted her _mother,_ that she wanted _to go home, please..._

She could not, would not, wish this torture on anyone else; not on Orochimaru, not on that traitor Kabuto, and not even on Itachi Uchiha, the man who single-handedly burned out the capacity for true happiness in her beloved teammate that one fateful night.

This was too cruel, this "special" ability of the human body to fry its owner's nerves with every signal of ache, cramp, spasm, sore that it possibly knew as a means to "help and heal". And what was the cruelest was she was unsure if she was truly going to pull through, or not. She had never come across such an amalgation of symptoms in a patient like she was now, and her agony-fogged brain was useless in trying to analyze herself without collapsing from the strain or making her so nauseous that it would spell another ten minutes of dry heaving.

A cool hand rested against her hot, sweaty cheek to brush away even hotter tears. Her eyes squeezed shut even tighter and she moved her head a fraction of an inch closer, whimpering.

"Hush."

Sasori's bed side manner at first had been clinical and at times mocking, but thankfully the taunts lasted only a day or two before dropping; even now he was still wholly serious on treating her, for which she was thankful from one human being to..another?

After awhile it had dissolved into something not quite compassionate, but still perceptive to her needs for reassurance and company, however detached and matter-of-fact it was. He humored her soft-spoken requests to hold her hand, to remain cupping her forehead as she drifted into sleep with such a gentle and cold sensation against her steaming brow, to talk about normal things like the weather outside, the handfuls of hardy flora native to Suna that he had studied extensively once upon a time. She still heard his monologues in her dreams, and sometimes she even dreamt that she responded to him in kind. Civil, safe discussions to be had at a white table in a void of gray smoke.

* * *

It was supposed to have been a reconnaissance mission. Something that a half-decent chunin would have been able to pull off. Simple.

Except the target had been Orochimaru, and the house of business one of his many personal bunkers scattered throughout the world.

But Sakura had assured Tsunade she was up to the task. She was her pupil, after all.

Very quickly it had dissolved into a complete and utter failure. It wasn't her fault, necessarily. It had been beyond a ninja's abilities to have picked out every single trap laid out for a foolish leaf ninja like herself. She hadn't noticed the flash of reflective lens before she had been hit with the most noxious of gases that had swiftly rendered her numb and out of commission.

The young woman's eyes could not focus on the pair of sandaled feet not ten paces away, and it didn't take a genius to know that that four-eyed traitor, Kabuto, was standing in the shadows gloating at her demise and idiocy.

It would have spelled the end for Sakura, had there not been an unexpected +1 to this doomed infiltration.

Her ears had stopped working but she watched as Kabuto took two steps back in surprise. Her brow had furrowed in confusion and for a split second the girl's vision had focused like two halves of the same lens. His face was etched with perturbation and hostility, very foreign emotions to the bespectacled ninja from her dealings with him.

The initial relief of this crony of Orochimaru backing off was replaced with great fear, as if someone-or something-could frighten simpering Kabuto, what did that mean for her?

She hadn't gotten the chance at that time, and only much later after she had woken up did she realize that the threat had been her savior, and her savior was someone she saw die before her very eyes two years ago.

* * *

Sasori's eyes had widened in muted surprise when he had discovered that another mission of what he assumed was a similar goal had been running parallel to his this entire time.

That pink-haired girl. Sasori had paused for a moment whilst enshrouded in the darkness of Orochimaru's many corridors, tucked away in a corner on the ceiling like a patient spider, in order to recall the name his grandmother referred to her as.

Sakura.

Unoriginal, in truth, but to Sasori something 'unoriginal' didn't make it any less true or valuable. As long as it was honest with itself that it wasn't unique, he could deal with the inanities.

Gas had filled up the wide hallway that his former subordinate had triggered as he practically gloated over the fallen kunoichi. No doubts were in the puppeteer's mind that the whelp had taken an antidote before pulling such a stunt. And she had fallen victim to it so quickly.

Possessing no lungs necessary for breathing, it affected the defected Sand ninja not in the slightest.

Still, to die at the hands of an ungrateful and overconfident lacky of Orochimaru's-traitors, both of them-it didn't sit well with Sasori.

Let her perish at the hands of someone more worthy of her skills. Like him, for instance, if given a second chance...

He had emerged quite swiftly before the brat could make another move to harm the young Leaf ninja. His stoic expression betrayed none of the satisfaction that filled Sasori's chest at Kabuto's recognition of his face.

Despite having switched allegiances the young man _still_ held some reservations in considering himself completely untouchable. Smart boy.

Their words were short, and Sasori made it very clear in no uncertain terms that he would leave this base of operations intact and off Suna and Konoha's radar if he were allowed to leave with the girl, both unmolested.

Remembering his former master's gift with bestowing mountains of misfortune on those who defied him, Kabuto acquiesced quite swiftly. A head-on confrontation was not to be on the agenda today; after all, the little miss Haruno had not uncovered anything of worth and she was more than likely to be dropped off in the wilderness to be ravaged by the beasts, anyway.

* * *

It had been like a dream. Sakura had seen a blurry Kabuto shift from foot to foot, his head tilted in such a a way that she knew he was speaking to someone behind her, though for some reason she could not hear him. Who was it? Orochimaru? ...Sasuke?

A mocking bow was given to whatever force she could not see, and then she was lifted into a stranger's arms. The young woman realized she could not feel anything, and it scared her. She realized she was crying. Or more accurately, her eyes were tearing up because she had not blinked in minutes. They were beginning to burn.

A dark, blurry palm settled over her eyes, and with the lightest touch a thumb and index finger slid them closed. An endless stream of silent 'thank you's' filtered across her black vision in bold white letters before fading into obscurity.

Air flowed over Sakura's face and she knew she was moving. Someone was taking her somewhere. Somewhere safe, hopefully. A lot of hope was riding on that outcome.

* * *

When Sakura had awoken, she discovered she was terribly thirsty and that she couldn't move her limbs. On top of that, a man she thought to be dead was sitting on a small, backed chair with a leg crossed over the other elegantly, watching her.

Her mouth fell open and out came a ragged gasp. All of a sudden there wasn't enough air and her chest burned with each expansion to fill it. Everything below her neck ached. The muscles in her abdomen felt as if they were being pulled taut to the point of snapping. What had this bastard done to her-!

A cup was brought to her lips, a hand to her chin to help her gulp it down. To avoid choking Sakura chose to focus on it. She finished the whole glass expediently and the corners of her mouth were wiped away with a hand that felt surprisingly..fleshy.

It was pointless to try to move away from his touch, so she let him.

"You've been in a delirious state for almost three days." he informed her. She stared at him with as much courage and fearlessness that her gaze could muster, but she was already feeling fatigued again. Damnit.

Suddenly he leaned forward, his hand coming close to her face. Sakura was struck with a terror that only someone in a similar state of helplessness as her could feel. But she dared not close her eyes...

Her left eye twinged as the cold pad of his finger lightly tapped the spot just below her temple, before her ear.

"Rest. That is an order, Leaf ninja." Already he was lifting himself out of his chair to pull the chain to the bedside lamp.

Before she could stop herself, she rasped, "I have a name" with the least amount of impunity as she could manage. It was a bit difficult though, and she hoped that he didn't take her comment as a sign of disrespect. She may have found him morally reprehensible when they fought that time ago, but a smart *sane* individual would do best not to get on the bad side of their captor, especially when they know the destruction said captor was capable of.

Sasori paused, hovering between sitting and standing, and turned his head to look at her with a more critical eye. Sakura shrank into the bed, shivered.

His mouth did not smile, but it was more amicable than a frown as he continued to move like . "I know that. Sakura, was it?" She could only cough out a "yes" in response.

"Mmm, a very...fitting, if trite, name that reflects its owner with almost overwhelming accuracy."

Was that a compliment in the guise of a backhanded compliment? Wait..what?

Her reply was a blink, and his was a blank stare.

She felt like saying something, though. 'Thank you' would be too much, she thinks. He could still kill her, and he didn't seem like the type to accept gratitude, jaded as he was.

Her sore chest was so sore she was surprised it didn't creak when she wheezed out the following:

"More..water..please?"

She honestly expected him to ignore her request and leave, she really did. So it was with much surprise and relief when he-without even a huff of impatience-did as she asked.

After finishing a second cup, she directed her gaze at the ceiling and proceeded to ignore him, focusing instead willing herself to sleep so she could recover even faster. A determined attitude did wonders for health, as her extensive time as a healer in Konoha's clinics had taught her.

Unfortunately, she didn't know what she had, why she had it, or how long it would take for it to run through her system. The best thing to do, though, was to trust that she wouldn't expire as soon as she fell asleep and that Sasori wouldn't carve her up.

"Will that be all, girl?"

Sakura's eyes flicked sideways to where he hovered at her bed side before returning to the ceiling.

"Yes..I mean.." She had to pause to cough before continuing, "Sorry..I'm tired now..

"Ah, thank you..for the water.."

He didn't say "you're welcome" and again, she hadn't expected him to. He had ulterior motives, that much she could figure out. There was no point in being needlessly pig-headed and snide to him; though she was keeping her mixture of revulsion, hatred, and fear under control, hopefully.

It was probably her initial civility that saved her hours of agony over what felt like weeks, as while he was cold those first couple of days, Sakura had reminded him that she was worthy of what limited respect he could possess for a human being nowadays. She had earned it, even if he offhandedly chided her now and then during her more lucid moments that she was really too emotional for the line of work that she was in, and should probably change professions to avoid making a fool of herself.

As previously mentioned, his bedside manner had not been the best, at first.


	4. No Tears

She had promised herself she wouldn't cry after becoming a student of Tsunade.

Barring the few times that she inevitably did ("that one doesn't count", "it was a funeral, how could I not?", "Stupid damned coffee table!"), she had held true to her word.

As she lies limply in his arms, back to his chest...as her head rests numbly against his shoulder despite every sleeping nerve screaming for her to take control and headbutt him until his porcelain skull caved in...As they both gaze into the mirror standing before them which clearly reflects the lewd position of her spread legs and the hand that is kneading the skin of her knee in a teasing manner...

She wishes she could. She wishes, she hopes, she prays that she could express the impending fear that is blackening her insides with an oily brush. Thick and suffocating her brain, her ability to think of anything other than don't please don't please don't please please stop.

Her lips can't part to scream for him to stop when his hand trails up her thigh to the flesh that is there for prominent display. It is unaroused and unaware of his intentions.

When they glide up once, she feels it almost perk in curiosity.

After a minute of more pervasive ministrations, of that hard cruel stare and debased smirk locked onto her glassy gaze in the mirror, his mirthless tittering at her body's honest-to-God natural reflex to being treated so sweetly begins to bear fruit.

Her heart feels like it's trying to force itself into cardiac arrest when he lifts his fingers to show off the wetness clinging to them. She wants to scream when he pushes them past her lips and paints her clenched teeth with it.

When his hand returns to the place between her legs, he innocently questions why she's so hot down there, is she in need of assistance, is she ill?

She wants to scream. She wants to scream until blood is pouring past her teeth onto the floor from her ragged throat.

_Stop. Stop. Stop. You bastard, you monster, you you you-_

He hums to himself, tightens the hold he has around her waist as he continues to idly play with her.

She has been in control of her eyes this entire time, had been reserved the ability to blink and close them, but for some reason she doesn't want to block what she's seeing out of her mind. Why. Why does she torture herself like this?

_Memorize everything he has done to you. For when you get your chance, you will pay back every single disgusting thing he's done with interest. With rope. With blades. With stones. With fire and screaming._

It goes on for what honestly seems like an eternity. She can't even guess how long because each second feels like it's compounded and multiplied and stretched past the point of acknowledgment.

All she can do in this time is wait and feel her soul filling up with tears she cannot shed in that moment, and likely never will. It would be too late and inappropriate to waste time on such a thing no matter how much she wants to.

It wouldn't be worth it. There would be other, inevitable situations much like this one-and many quite unlike it-that would deserve such a reaction just as well.

She hopes that when she is faced with it she allows herself the brief indulgence to let her weakness (her strength?) be known, if for a moment, if at the cost of his mockery and scorn.

She wouldn't care because afterward, she thinks to herself, she would sleep. Just sleep and not wake up until she's ready to face him again.

The jolt from the orgasm is sudden and unexpected. His enraptured stare at her body's furious attempts to flex and jitter with the waves of pleasurable contractions is disturbing, off-putting.

A groan works its way up her throat but is muffled by her clenched teeth and numb unparted lips.

An instinctive piece of her tucked away in a place she can't name is quietly moaning and enjoying the pleasant throb firing off in the center of her brain. It's naive and guileless, cooing for something warm to envelop her so that it can peacefully fall asleep while being held by the one who did her body such a favor.

The one holding her, however-

He sighs in a loathsomely satisfied way and practically revels the sight in the mirror of the mess he's made of her, how pink she is, how wet and uncharacteristically instinctual and needy her body had been at the split second before it convulsed and transformed his unwanted attentions into blissful energy that left her in a state of limbo between serenity and self-loathing.

Her eyes are burning, she realizes as he gathers her up. His hand is pressed to her cheek to ensure her head doesn't fall from his shoulder and loll around like a stuffed animal whose neck has been wrung too many times by an enthusiastic child and displacing its stuffing.

Stuffing..dolls...she's a toy that is about to be put away now that he's done with her. Simply a matter of course. The logical thing to do, the _responsible_ thing to do.

Her place to be when he is finished with whatever she could call this torture is a sad mattress against the wall of the room they are currently in.

She can only stare up at him with weak hatred as he pulls the covers up to her chin.

"Sweet dreams, Sakura." He says as he slides her sluggish eyelids closed with two fingers. They drag continue to down her cheeks in an unnecessary and mocking caress.

When he pulls them back, he notices that his fingertips are wet.


	5. Afghan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooper short, but I finished this literally as the clock struck 12:01 AM. So yay me!

  
Sakura is grateful to have Sasori in her life, very grateful.

Honestly, she doesn't know how she can get through grad school without him supporting her. Tests, studying, self-doubt, not to mention the killer competition in her program...Sometimes it made her want to curl up on the couch and sleep forever.

That was the sort of plan she was currently executing, under the maroon afghan Sasori's grandmother had knitted them as an apartment-warming gift.

Luckily, and annoyingly enough, Sasori wasn't one to let her sulk. He had ways of coaxing her out of her depressive shell.

So it was with growing enthusiasm that she kissed him as he leaned over her place on the couch. His hands cupping her face were warm, his thumbs stroking her cheeks soothingly. She wanted him to warm her up, to shoo away the gray clouds threatening to settle within her.

Somehow he manages to slide beneath the afghan. Somehow he manages to disappear both of their pants and pull down her underwear. Somehow he manages to make her nearly come with just his fingers alone. Somehow she is both sweating and chilly at the same time in that short amount of time, shivering when he enters her and sets an easy-going pace.

Somehow they climax at the same time, and somehow she feels rest assured by his words of comfort that he will always be there, by her side, supporting her.

Sakura falls asleep without having eaten dinner, which disappoints Sasori somewhat because he had been planning on making stir fry. He gives her a tired smile and kisses her forehead before slipping her underwear back on and piling an extra blanket on her in place of her missing pants.

He eats a sandwich and falls asleep in the easy chair beside her while a late night show plays silently throughout the night.


End file.
